


Carry On Tarot: The Chariot

by Owl_girl04



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Carry On Tarot Collection, FootballPlayer!Baz, FootballPlayer!Simon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24916069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owl_girl04/pseuds/Owl_girl04
Summary: Simon Snow is slowly becoming obsessed with the Charioteers, a football team that might be the key to him going to college. However, to land a scholarship he has to compete against and with, Baz Grimm-Pitch, one of the greatest soccer players of his age.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25
Collections: Carry_On_Tarot_Collection





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, dear reader! If you’ve clicked on this fic I’m already immensely grateful! Simon and Baz aren’t what I normally write, so I hope I did them justice for you. Enjoy!

Penny hated the football pitch. The glaring lights cast everything in a pale, unearthly glow. She was of the opinion that they made everything occurring on the pitch seem like it belonged to another world. And not a nice world, either. Football was filled with grunting, cursing, and tripping. She couldn’t understand why it would ever appeal to Simon.  
_I’m_ _such_ _a_ _supportive_ _friend_ , Penny thought as the opposing team scored their first goal.  
_Simon’s_ _lucky_ _to_ _have_ _me_. Another goal, this time in their school’s favor. The crowd around her sprung from their seats, roaring with excitement. Penny sighed and remained stubbornly in her seat.  
_This_ _is_ _idiotic_. Their opponents were from a fancy private school from a couple of towns over. Penny was sure Simon had mentioned their name at some point during his daily lunchtime ramblings, but she couldn’t be too bothered to remember it.  
She could be doing any other productive thing right now… like visiting the library or finishing her AP Lit essay. Instead, her butt was slowly going numb from the cold, hard bleachers and she was watching adolescent boys high on testosterone and adrenaline chase each other around a field.  
Simon had pleaded with her to be there. It was his first game since making the varsity football team at Watford High. He had yet to set a foot on the field and the game was half over.  
Penny cringed and the crowd moaned as two opposing players collided. The Watford student remained on the ground, holding his shin. Penny knew half of football was pretending to be hurt to give your team the advantage, but he looked like he was in real pain.  
“Send him off, ref!”  
“That should be a card!”  
Sure enough, as the referee jogged over she pulled a yellow card from her pocket. As she held it under the culprit’s nose, boos echoed from the visiting student section. The referee consulted quietly with the injured player, who’s face was bordering on white. Penny figured it wasn’t just the stadium lights as he hobbled off the field.  
Penny released a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding as Simon trotted onto the pitch. For the first time since the beginning of the game, she began to cheer, “Yes! Go, Simon!”  
The player who had been given a card also left the field, looking murderous. Their substitution triggered heated whispers from the people sitting around Penny.  
“It’s Basilton Grimm-Pitch!” the girl to her left squealed. She shimmied in her seat and craned her neck to get a better view.  
Penny had to press her lips together to keep from giggling. The girl’s energy was similar to Simon’s when he had realized he would be playing against the son of Natasha Grimm-Pitch.  
“ _She_ _was_ _one_ _of_ _the_ _greatest_ _coaches_ _of_ _all_ _time,_ _Penny!_ _Without_ _her,_ _Liverpool_ _wouldn’t_ _have_ _stood_ _a_ _chance_ _against_ _Manchester_ _City_ _in_ _the_ _final_ _match_ _of–_ ”  
Penny’s memory of her best friend’s rant was interrupted by another sharp blast from the referee’s whistle. The game was back on. 

“And that concludes a thrilling game against visiting Hampshire Premier Academy. Final score: Stags, three, Lynxs, one.” The announcement crackled through the speakers as the crowd began to disperse. The opposition’s student section was still cheering across the pitch as they welcomed their players into their midst.  
Penny ignored the cacophony as she scanned the field for Simon. He had disappeared into his team’s huddle, but she hadn’t been able to spot him once it had dissolved. Penny figured it was her duty as a best friend to console him, considering his first varsity match was a loss.  
She picked her way through a group of parents, finally sighting Simon’s bronze curls near the entrance to the locker rooms.  
“Hey! Simon!” she called, jogging until they were side by side. “Nice game.”  
Simon shook his head as they continued walking towards the small outbuilding. “It was terrible, Penny. I was absolute rubbish. As soon as they subbed me in our team broke down. Did you see that last goal? That was my fault, you know. I dropped the pass that McNealey sent me. It was meant to be a through ball but I completely misread it–” “Simon,” Penny said, “It was not your fault. I may not know a thing about football, but I can still confidently tell you that the game doesn’t rest on one player’s shoulders.” They hovered at the entrance of the locker rooms. Simon’s teammates filed inside behind him but he seemed reluctant to follow.  
“Well, no,” Simon began, but Penny held up a hand to cut him off.  
“Look, Simon. Don’t worry about the game. It was just that, a _game_. Plus, it was your first time ever with this team. You’ll feel a lot better next time.”  
Simon nodded, seeming to dismiss his concerns, but the ghost of his frown still remained. “I’m going to get ready to head out for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
Penny turned towards the parking lot. “Yes. Goodnight, Simon.”  
“Bye, Penny.”

Simon knew he was spending a ridiculously long time in the showers. Usually, he used the time to let the hot water wash away the remaining dregs of adrenaline from the game, but today his brain was still preoccupied. The was one thing, well, _person_ , in particular, that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.  
Basilton Grimm-Pitch. He was everything Simon had expected and more. Basilton was an amazing football player, hands down. He was controlled, agile, and clever. But that wasn’t the only thing Simon was stuck on. Basilton had fame, money, perfect career prospects, and on top of all that he was handsome. His life was everything Simon had ever hoped for.   
Instead, Simon cringed when he thought of his own reckless overabundance of energy and passion on the pitch. His coach liked to yell at him for that; his “overenthusiasm” had more than once resulted in him being pulled off the field. Simon’s style of football was extremely emotional. When he got angry, he got sloppy. And tonight, he had certainly been angry when he was substituted in for Davies.   
Simon sighed and stepped out of the showers. His teammates had all disappeared ages ago, probably headed home to sympathetic pats on the back and cozy family dinners.  
Once Simon had pulled on his coat and gathered up his kit, he pushed through the locker room doors into the night. The empty stadium seemed sinister under the dim light of the moon. The stadium lights had shut off ages ago and the parking lot was empty.  
A lone figure remained standing in the pool of light from one of the streetlamps. Simon couldn’t help his small gasp when the boy turned towards him.  
“Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” Simon said, nodding in greeting.  
Basilton’s lip curled. “It’s just Baz, actually.” “I’m Simon Snow.”  
Baz didn’t respond and instead extracted one of his hands from his pocket to peer at a silver wristwatch. Simon couldn’t help but notice that his hands were extremely pale, even when they weren’t under the stadium lights. His fingers also seemed too long and delicate; way too pretty to be footballer hands. In fact, Baz seemed entirely too put together for a person who had just been battling it out on the pitch two hours previously. He was all black and white and sharp angles, like he had just stepped out of an old detective film.   
Simon tore his eyes away from Baz, feeling a sudden urge to break the silence.  
“Your teammate was a jerk,” Simon snapped, throwing Baz a sideways glare.  
“I would’ve thought you’d be happy about it,” Baz retorted.  
“About what? One of my mates getting injured?” Simon spluttered, shaking his head. He pulled out his phone to call an Uber and tried to ignore how his hands were trembling.  
“You wouldn’t have gotten to play otherwise,” Baz said.  
Simon’s head jerked up to meet Baz’s eyes. “Excuse me?”  
“The rumor is you’re more of a loose cannon than a football player… and tonight was your chance to prove otherwise.”  
A black car slid to halt in front of them and Baz opened its door. He turned one last time to give Simon a smooth once-over before climbing into the vehicle. Thirty seconds later Baz’s car disappeared into the night, leaving Simon to wonder at the fact that he was just insulted by the son of Natasha Grimm-Pitch. And the fact that Baz had heard a rumor about him. And that Baz had looked rather dapper in his long, black winter jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you’d like to see more of my work check my Tumblr: @owl-girl04


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon has very important conversation. Baz keeps running into Simon... not that he’s upset about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this next installment! Any and all feedback is super appreciated <3

Three days later, the bell above the door at Coffee Apothecary jingled as Simon pushed through the front entrance. Penny greeted him cheerily from the register, gesturing that she’d be there in a moment. He slid into his favorite cushy red chair near the front display window and took a moment to admire the many cakes arranged there while he waited on Penny.  
Prime Roast had the best cappuccinos in town, but their wide assortment of pastries and biscuits were the real reason they get so much business. The walls of the place were coated with shelves of books and copies of Penny’s dad’s many mapping projects. There were so many squashy armchairs scattered around the place that Penny had to weave across the floor as if she were in a corn maze in order to reach Simon.  
“Simon! What are you doing here? You know I don’t get off ‘til four,” Penny said. She set down two cappuccinos and a plate of cherry scones on the table between them.  
Simon grabbed one of the scones immediately, wincing as it’s steaming temperature burned into the pads of fingers. “Well, yeah. But once you’re done with your shift you can’t get me any of these.” He took a bite of the scone to demonstrate and nearly moaned- Penny’s cherry scones were his absolute favorite, hands down.  
Penny’s nose wrinkled as he continued to feast on the tray of pastries; crumbs waterfalling to the floor with every bite. “Fair point.” He knew she was only trying to stifle a laugh at his atrocious table manners. “So, you come for my pastries but not my company and that’s all well and good, but you must have something you wanted to talk about,” Penny said.  
Simon nodded. Penny could always read him as if he was an open book. It was a good thing he never felt the need to hide anything from her. “I’ve decided to try out,” Simon said.  
“For the Charioteers? Simon, that’s amazing news!” Penny exclaimed, leaning across the table eagerly. “But how did you get the money to pay for tryouts?”  
“The orphanage is lending it to me,” Simon said. His brow creased as he picked up another scone. “If I make it, and get a scholarship, I should be able to pay them back… eventually.”  
Penny fell back into her plush armchair and bit her lip. “Racking up debt before you’re even out of high school can’t be smart.”  
“I haven’t really got a choice though, have I?” Simon muttered to his scone. He sighed and looked up to meet Penny’s skeptical stare. “Making this team almost guarantees me a scholarship to University, Penny. You know there’s no other way I’ll afford it, and I’m not good at school stuff like you. Football is my only shot at getting noticed.”  
Penny nodded in understanding. “I just wish—“  
The jangling doorbell cut her off abruptly.  
“Hello, Simon. Penny.” A girl with shimmering blonde hair stood awkwardly in the doorway. Simon hastily swallowed his mouthful of pastry and stood to greet her.  
“Hey, Agatha,” he said, “What’s up?”  
Agatha pressed her lips together, her gaze darting to where Penny was seated.  
“How’ve you been, Agatha?” Penny asked.  
“I’m doing just fine,” Agatha murmured, her lips barely moving. “I’ve actually come to talk to Simon, if you don’t mind.”  
“Be my guest,” Penny said. She stood and dusted off her apron, even though it didn’t have any crumbs on it. “I’ll just be in the back.”  
Agatha took Penny’s vacated seat. Simon noticed she was avoiding looking at him. He realized he was still standing in front of her and sat down.   
Agatha’s face seemed even more pale than usual in the light slanting in from the windows. Her delicate features were pinched, which Simon recognized as her thinking face. Simon and Agatha had been dating since Year 10, so he thought he had her expressions mostly figured out.   
He had never exactly understood how he had gotten so lucky. Agatha was easily the prettiest girl in their year. Ever since he had arrived at Watford, he had been in awe of her willowy stature and distinguished personality. She had been untouchable, and he had just been an orphan on a scholarship to one of the most select private schools in the country. But over the years Watford had become his home and Agatha had become his girl.  
Now she had finally raised her head to meet his eyes, and he realized her own eyes had filled with tears.  
“Oh, Simon,” she cried, “I think we need to break up.”  
Simon was shaking his head before he had even fully registered her words. “ _Agatha_ , what are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”  
“It’s just— I’m going to college in America and I don’t think— I mean, I just can’t… _we_ can’t!” Tears began tracking down her cheeks, but she didn’t swipe them away. Instead, she continued to stare at Simon, as if the strength in her gaze alone would make him understand.  
But he _couldn’t_ understand. “Agatha, we can _do_ long-distance. I can visit. We can FaceTime everyday!”  
Agatha just shook her head, unbearably sad. “No, Simon,” she said, “We can’t.”  
“Don’t you want _this_ ,” Simon said, gesturing between himself and Agatha. He felt heat rising in his cheeks. Agatha wasn’t making sense. You don’t just _break_ _up_ with someone you’ve been dating for four years. _This_ _isn’t_ _happening_ , Simon thought.  
“It’s not about… about just what you _want_ , Simon,” Agatha said, her voice wobbling. “Sometimes… sometimes it’s about what you _need_.”  
Simon dropped the scone he had been holding onto the plate and stood. “Then tell me, Agatha. We’ve been together for four years! We were doing _fine_! What else would you _need_?”  
Agatha remained seated, but she finally pushed her tears away with the back of her hand. “I need to be more than just _fine_. I need— I need a fresh start, a new direction. College can give me that. America is my chance! And don’t you see? This is _your_ chance at a new direction, too.”  
“So you don’t want to see me anymore?” Simon asked, his tone flat.  
“No, Simon.” Agatha spoke at barely a whisper, like even she couldn’t believe what she was saying. “I don’t think we should see each other.”  
Simon’s vision seemed to be clouded with red. _This_ _can’t_ _be_ _happening_ , he thought. Agatha couldn’t be doing this… tossing him aside without warning like he was a book she had lost interest in.  
Simon turned away from her, unwilling to look at the resolve shining on her face. He suddenly felt like something was caving inside his chest. He needed fresh air, any air, as long as it wasn’t near Agatha. He was afraid if he stood with Agatha for another minute he’d do something he’d regret. Like getting down on his knees and begging for her. Or snogging her senseless, in the hopes that when she _did_ come back to her senses she’d see what a crazy mistake she was making.  
So, Simon fled through the door and onto the street, leaving Agatha in her cozy chair with tears slowly drying on her cheeks.

Baz was having an off night even before he arrived at the Charioteer tryouts. He had been kicked out of his family’s library by his sister and a gaggle of her friends. A string had snapped on his violin and he had been out of replacements. And his chauffeur had called in sick, so he had to drive himself to the field where tryouts were being held.  
By the time Baz had trekked from the parking lot, up the hill, and onto the pitch he was nearly ready to call it quits. Making this team didn’t _really_ matter, in the grand scheme of things. He could already count on his family’s reputation to get into any university on this side of the Atlantic.   
But this club had been where his mother had began her career as a football player. She had ascended from being star player of the Charioteers women’s league to, after years of hard work and many positions in between, head coach of the Liverpool premier team. Baz was sure that however he performed at this tryout, his name had already secured him a position on the team.  
Based on the reactions from the other young men waiting atop the hill, they were sure of the same thing.  
Baz recognized a few familiar faces. A couple of boys he had played against in his school matches were scattered throughout the crowd. Niall, the center-back of his own team, nodded in greeting.  
Baz walked over to stand next to him. If they had to do partner exercises, Niall was good enough to keep up with him, but not so good that he would outshine him.  
Baz almost didn’t notice who was standing on his other side, until Simon Snow sniffled. Usually, Simon would’ve been easy for Baz to spot. His manic energy could be detected from the opposite side of the pitch. He was perhaps the messiest, most passionate football player Baz had ever met. Even if Simon was outmatched (which was more often than Baz figured he realized), he always barreled onwards.   
Tonight, however, Simon resembled a wet towel more than anything. His jersey was rumpled and his shin-guards were sideways. His eyes were rimmed with red, so Baz assumed he had been crying. Snow’s hair was even less fluffy than usual, which was perhaps the most drastic change. Simon usually styled it so the sides were nearly nonexistent and the main attraction were the curls piled on top. On a normal day, the state of messiness of the mass of curls on the top of his head would outwardly express his high intensity. Suddenly, Baz felt a jolt of concern for him.   
_Stop_ _it_ , he chided himself, _Your_ _job_ _is_ _to_ _beat_ _Snow_ , _not_ _sympathize_ _with_ _him_.   
“Five laps, meet back here,” the coach grumbled. He blew his whistle and the tryouts began.  
Baz pulled ahead of the crowd immediately, not worried about exhausting himself. He had found long ago that football, like most things in life, came easily to him. He was happy to show the other players present, especially Snow, what a true professional looked like.  
As the night wore on, Baz continued to keep one eye on Simon Snow. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t because he was _concerned_ … he just wanted to monitor Simon’s unusual behavior.  
The tryout seemed to be too short and too long, all at the same time. The sun was beginning to set, washing the sky in a vivid orange and pink. Once the final huddle had broken, each player went to retrieve their bags and water bottles from underneath a nearby tree.  
Baz took an unnecessarily long time to pack away his cleats and change into more practical shoes. As he had hoped, Simon also moved sluggishly. Once most of the other players had disappeared, Baz turned to Snow.  
“Are you alright? You were doing even worse than usual,” Baz said. He had hoped to elicit some sort of reaction, but Simon continued to stare into the depths of his bag.  
“That’s none of your business,” Simon said, his voice hard. He yanked the zipper of his bag shut and stood. “If you’ve finished insulting me, I have a ride to catch.”  
“Don’t be mad at me,” Baz said, intentionally increasing his volume. “You’re the one who’s had a stick up your arse all night.”  
“I’m not in the mood, Baz,” Simon muttered, his eyes darkening.  
“Fine. Sorry for wondering why you look like someone just killed your puppy.”  
“Baz! My girlfriend broke up with me! I’ve just failed tryouts! I’m having a _miserable_ time! The one thing that would make it better is if you would _fuck_ _off_ ,” Simon shouted. He stalked down the hill and out of sight.  
Baz shook his head at his retreating back. Something about Simon, just talking with him, made him feel antagonistic. But his girlfriend… that was rough. Baz tried to suppress the guilt blossoming in his stomach along with some other emotion he didn’t want to name.  
He had just managed to kill the butterflies fluttering in his gut when a voice sounded from behind him.  
“Basilton.”   
Baz frowned and turned to greet his father. He looked very out of place on the pitch, since he was still wearing his gray suit from work. “Father.”  
“How were tryouts?”  
Baz shrugged and tried to prevent his gaze from creeping back over to where Simon disappeared.  
“Did you meet anyone with potential?” his father asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.  
Baz shrugged again and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.  
“I’m having lunch with Margaret Hazleton next week. She’s from the Charioteer’s roster committee and is quite influential. If there’s anyone you think would do well on the team, I could put in a good word for them. I know a few friends from school were planning on trying out, like the Niall boy—“  
“Actually, Father,” Baz interrupts, rolling his shoulders back. “There is someone you could mention for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you’d like to see more of my work check my Tumblr: @owl-girl04


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon realizes he might have a problem. Baz also realizes he might have a problem, of a different sort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I hope you enjoy this next chapter, but before you do I’d like to mention that this work is part of a collection. The Carry On Tarot event was organized so every card would have either a fic or piece of art (or sometimes both) corresponding to it. This fic was for The Chariot, so a lot of the themes and development stem from that. Please feel free to check out the rest of the pieces on Tumblr (@cotarot)!

“Penny!”  
“… Simon. It’s Saturday. It’s eight in the morning. What have I told you about—“  
“Penny I got in! I made the team!”  
A loud _thump_ echoed out of Simon’s phone speaker. He figured Penny had probably just fallen out of bed.  
“ _Ouch_ , I mean, that’s great, Simon! Congratulations!”  
Simon’s grin stretched even wider. He grabbed his phone from the foot of his bed and switched it off speaker. “Thanks, Penny.”  
“I can hear you smiling through the phone,” Penny laughed.   
“Yeah,” Simon said, “That’s cause this is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I have a real shot now at college.”   
He began to pace the length of his room. Each pass didn’t take him long. Penny liked to go home on the weekends, but Watford also offered boarding options for students who would rather stay. Simon had lucked out in the roommate department— he didn’t have one. His roommate had dropped out one semester into freshman year and he’d had a room to himself ever since. Still, it was a tight fit. There was room for his bed, a closet, and not much else. The walls were a deep purple and the curtains were neon green, the two school colors. Penny had cackled when she first stepped inside. Apparently her dorm was much more tastefully appointed (Light purple with dark purple accents, she had said.).  
“I’m happy for you, Simon,” Penny said through a yawn. “And I can still be happy for you when I’m sleeping, which is what I’m going to get back to doing, if you don’t mind.”  
She hung up before Simon could get another word in. Penny took weekend lie-ins very seriously, so he didn’t take offense.  
His cheeks were beginning to hurt from the force of his happiness but he couldn’t seem to stop smiling. He had dreaded the email from the Charioteers coach. Simon has been sure his performance at tryouts had been… less than exemplary. His conversation with Baz after it had finished had only confirmed his suspicions. His mind had been in other places. Agatha places.  
That thought finally killed his megawatt grin. Simon shook his head. Now was the time to focus on the positive. _Like_ _how_ _I’m_ _positively_ _sure_ _I_ _have_ _a_ _ton_ _of_ _history_ _work_ , he thought. Now that he had practice later, he needed to finish up his schoolwork instead of procrastinating, which was his usual strategy.  
He settled onto his bed and pulled out a half-finished essay, already feeling the buzz of nerves and excitement in his chest. It was going to be a long morning.

It took Simon no time at all to fall into his new routine; Charioteers practice took place on Saturdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Games would be starting sometime in the next couple weeks, but Simon was more focused on attaining a place on the field than he was on worrying about the games.  
He had discovered something very unfortunate within his first week on the team. Baz Grimm-Pitch played the same position as him, so they would be competing for playing time. As Simon slipped onto a sofa at the Coffee Apothecary, he remained fixated on finding a way to prove he was at least equally good, if not better, at football than his rival.  
“Hello, hello,” Penny greeted. She dusted her hands off on her dark green uniform and sat down.   
“I need to become a better football player,” Simon said by way of greeting, pursing his lips. He ignored the snack platter Penny had brought. His stomach was twisted in knots.  
“Why?” Penny asked. She crossed her legs, pretzel style, and settled back into her chair.  
“I’m competing against Baz,” Simon explained.  
“Aren’t you on the same team?” Penny began to unravel her braid, her fingers twirling deftly through her hair.  
“Well yes,” Simon admitted, “But we play the same position, so only one of us can be on the field at a time. So whoever’s best gets to play in games more.”  
“And that’s important because…” Penny prompted. She blew away a few strands of hair that were dangling near her eyes.  
“Because college scouts come to games, so I need to _play_ in games for them to see what I can do.”  
“Hm.” Penny began to rebraid her hair into a much more complex fashion. Simon couldn’t remember what girls called it. _Italian_ , he was pretty sure, or something like that.  
“I don’t suppose you have any advice,” Simon mumbled, propping his chin on his fist.  
“On football?” Penny laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong person.”  
Simon groaned, slumping down into his chair until his head was nearly smothered by the cushions.  
“Though I suppose you could practice more,” Penny offered. “Isn’t that how sports work?” She finished her braid and fished a few pins out of her pocket. She stabbed them so violently into her purple locks that Simon winced, but when she was finished her hair was pinned into a crown.  
“I could stay after…” Simon muttered, beginning to sit back up.  
Penny made a vague noise of affirmation, but her gaze had drifted out the window behind Simon.  
He turned just in time to glimpse a swish of blonde hair entering the clothing boutique next door. The knots in his stomach suddenly became much more complex.  
“I’m worried about her,” Penny said. Her mouth was pinched into an odd little frown.  
“Why are you worried about _her_? I’m the one who got broken up with! She’s the broken… broken-upper? Break-upper? Anyway, she should be happy. She finally has what she wanted,” Simon declared.  
“What?”  
“Freedom. She said something about needing direction, and how I wasn’t giving her any.” Simon waved away his own words. “So back to football.”  
Penny’s frown deepened but she didn’t comment.  
“You really think I can be better than Baz Grimm-Pitch if I just practice more?” Simon asked.  
“As far as I know, that’s how most skills work. Football, maths, musical instruments. Practice makes perfect, and all that,” Penny said, reaching for a cup of tea.  
Simon grinned at her from across the table.  
“What?” Penny asked. She took a small sip from her cup.  
“Just you,” Simon said, his tone bubbly with laughter. “You and football.”  
“Hmph.” Penny set down her teacup and crossed her arms, but she couldn’t hide her smile.

Baz kept a close eye on Simon Snow during Charioteers practice. It was easy, since they played the same position and ended up doing the same drills. He quickly discovered that Simon was as ruthlessly competitive during practice as he was during any of their previous matches. He tried tirelessly to match Baz’s skill and precision, and he was getting better. Snow just wasn’t good enough for Baz to worry about his playing time.   
It was easy for Baz to fall into a routine, and he found himself looking forward to seeing Snow at their practices. It was easy to banter with him during warmups, enjoyable even. If it weren’t for Simon’s fierce competitive spirit, they might have become friends. But Baz could tell that Snow would never go for that. He was dead set on surpassing Baz and becoming the team standout.  
So as much as Baz hated it, they were growing to be rivals. It didn’t help when three weeks into practicing, Simon suddenly began improving at a much more rapid rate. Baz couldn’t figure out what had changed; Simon put in the same amount of effort at practices. _He’s_ _not_ _the_ _type_ _to_ _try_ _steroids_ , _either_ , Baz thought as he watched Simon during the routine end-of-practice scrimmage.  
“That’s it for tonight, boys,” their coach called. Simon skidded to a halt mid-sprint. A flash of annoyance, so quick Baz thought he may have imagined it, was his only reaction to the coach’s announcement.  
“You can’t seriously be upset that he called it early,” Baz said as he walked past Simon on the way to the locker rooms. They practiced at an old high school field, and the restrooms were still in good enough shape that the team always changed there after practice.  
Simon shot Baz a glare, but remained standing on the pitch. He was always the last to leave; Baz was usually long gone by the time Snow left the locker rooms. It was a bit odd. Baz knew Simon didn’t have a chauffeur, or even a brother or sister, to take him home. He didn’t even know where Snow _lived_ , so he had never offered him a ride. The only time Baz had ever seen Simon leave a football practice or game, he had called an Uber. Something twisted in Baz’s stomach at the thought of Simon having to return home alone every night. He blamed his pity for what he said next.  
“Do you want a ride home, Snow?”  
Simon blinked, and his mouth fell open. _Don’t_ _think_ _about_ _his_ _mouth_ , Baz chastised himself.  
The silence between them stretched and grew taunt, Simon still gaping and Baz shuffling his cleats awkwardly against the turf.  
“So that’s a no then?” Baz asked and began to turn away.  
A noise like “Uhlpobeylaysoy” popped out of Simon’s mouth. When Baz looked back at him again he was bright red and shaking his head. The movement made his heap of copper curls bounce.  
“Sorry?”  
“I’m staying late, so you probably don’t want to wait around for me,” Simon said, speaking slowly, like he was trying to reteach himself how to be coherent. His ears were still tinged pink.  
“Ah, I, uh, don’t mind waiting.” _You_ _absolute_ _tosser_ , _just_ _let_ _it_ _be_ , Baz thought.  
“You sure? I can just call an Uber—“  
“I’m sure,” Baz asserted. He crossed his arms across his chest, trying to suppress the desire to slap himself. _Just_ _make_ _it_ _obvious_ _you_ _like_ _him_ , great _thinking_. “And just out of curiosity, why are you staying late?”  
Simon’s eyes grew wide, and his cheeks flushed again. Baz had to consciously dismiss the small jolt of happiness he felt from flustering him.  
“I’ve been… practicing. Practicing extra, I mean,” Simon said.  
“So _that’s_ how you’ve been improving so fast,” Baz announced, smirking. “I thought steroids, but honest work does make more sense.”  
“Steroids?” Simon stammered. He shook his head adamantly and laughed. “Hey wait,” he said looking sharply at Baz, “You’ve noticed me improving? You’ve been watching me!”  
Baz felt his own eyes widen. “Snow, really—“  
“I mean it makes sense,” Simon interrupted. “We are competing for the same position. I’ve been keeping an eye on you, too. That’s why I’ve been practicing extra, so I actually get let on the pitch during games.”  
Baz’s brow furrowed and he frowned. “What do you mean? You’re plenty good.”  
“Er, thanks,” Simon mumbled. He ran a hand through his hair and fixed his eyes on his cleats. “But I’m not good enough yet.”  
Baz raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. When he was little, he used to practice that skill in the mirror.  
Simon sighed. “I need to attract the attention of university scouts. I need a scholarship, y’know, for college.”  
“Ah,” Baz said, suddenly awkward. He had never really considered that Simon might be so passionate about football because it was necessary. He had always assumed Snow just loved the game.  
“Yeah,” Simon mumbled, risking a glance at Baz’s face. It was carefully neutral. “Well, maybe I’ve practiced enough this week anyway. I’m just gonna…” he gestured behind Baz towards the locker rooms.  
“Yeah,” Baz said, “Me too.”  
They both traipsed toward the small outbuilding in silence. When they reached the door Baz held it open for Simon. “What’s your address? I’ll text it to the driver.”  
“Oh,” Simon said, his voice pitched slightly higher than normal. “101 Gatekeep Drive, in Watford.”  
“Alright,” Baz said. They both split in opposite directions inside the building, ready to weave through the maze of lockers. “Meet you in the car.”

“G’evenin’ Mr. Grimm-Pitch.”  
“Hello, Frederick. If you don’t mind waiting a second, that friend I texted you about will be here soon.” Baz settled into the firm backseat of the car.  
“Yessir,” Frederick said, shifting the car into park.   
Baz pulled out his phone in order to avoid further conversation. It wasn’t that he disliked Frederick, he was just, well.  
“So who’s this we’re bringin’ home tonight? Got yourself a boyfriend yet?”  
Baz gritted his teeth. His driver was incurably nosy.  
“No, Fred. And I would prefer you not say anything like that once he arrives.”  
“Oh, yessir,” Fred said, chuckling to himself.  
Simon rapped smartly on the window, and Baz reached across the backseat to open the door for him.  
“Hello,” Simon said, seeming slightly unsure.  
“G’evenin’ Mr. Baz’s Friend,” Fred said. He grinned at his own cleverness and they were off.  
“Uh, just Simon is fine.”  
“Alright then Mr. Simon. I’ll drop you off first.”  
Simon nodded and seemed to realize he was perched on the very edge of his seat. He slid backward into a more relaxed position and buckled his seatbelt, sneaking glances at Baz as he did so.  
“So why don’t you drive yourself?” Snow asked.  
“My dad pays for a chauffeur, so I use him,” Baz said with a shrug. “Why don’t _you_ drive?”  
“I don’t have a car,” Simon said. He pressed his lips into a thin line and directed his attention out the window.  
Baz did the same, though there wasn’t much to see. Street lamps and faint outlines of buildings zipped by.  
“So Mr. Simon, how long have you known Mr. Grimm-Pitch?” Fred asked, breaking the silence. Baz had to fight to not roll his eyes.  
“Oh, not too long,” Simon answered. _Of_ _course_ _he’s_ _being_ _nice_ , Baz thought. He tucked a dark strand of hair away from his forehead and decided to remain silent.  
“You two are good friends already, then?”  
“I-I suppose,” Simon said.   
Fred began to hum to himself as they slid to a halt near a stoplight. Baz continued to stare dutifully at his phone, not really taking in what was on the screen. In his peripheral, he could see Simon peering at him.  
“That must be a pretty interesting ad for farm fresh produce,” Simon whispered, quiet enough that Fred wouldn’t overhear.  
“Oh… yes,” Baz said. He could feel his cheeks heating. “I just adore fruits and vegetables at a great price.”   
He immediately cringed, but Simon laughed breathily.  
“How else are you going to maintain your prime footballer physique?” Simon teased. He repeated his gesture from earlier, pushing a hand through his hair.  
Baz found his expression was caught between the scowl he was trying to muster up and the grin he was trying to repress.  
“Alrigh’, alrigh’, here we are Mr. Simon.” Fred met Baz’s gaze in the rear view mirror. “Watford Academy.”  
“You live at a _school_?” Baz asked, turning to make eye contact with Simon. It was the first time he had done so since they had gotten in the car. A beat too late he realized they were sitting very close together. If he leaned forward six inches their noses would be touching.  
“A _boarding_ school,” Simon corrected, leaning away to open the car door. He slid away from Baz and into the night. “Thanks for the ride.”   
Fred smiled back at Simon “My pleasure.”  
Baz nodded. “Have a good night, Snow.”  
“You too.” Simon swallowed, like he wanted to say something more. Instead he closed the door and dashed off towards the towering gates of Watford Academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you’d like to see more of my work check my Tumblr: @owl-girl04


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s the soccer game, and then there’s the after-party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright everyone! This is the last chapter for this fic... I hope it doesn’t disappoint. Thank you thank you thank you for reading this far and sticking with me!

There were only two hours remaining until the start of Simon’s first ever game with the Charioteers. He had arrived early at the field and had stood at the centerline, soaking in the emptiness of the stadium. The rows of bleachers seemed to leer at him from the sidelines, but the pitch itself was peaceful.  
Simon knew he might not even get a chance to play tonight, that once he stepped off the pitch he might not step back on for the rest of the night. Because no matter how hard he tried, Baz was better than him. No matter how badly he wanted to prove himself or how much extra practice he put in, Baz’s level of skill was years ahead of him.  
Simon took one last deep breath in and began his trek towards the locker rooms.   
As he passed one of the many office doors in the back hall, he stopped suddenly in his tracks. The solid oak door of his coach’s office, usually shut tight and soundproof, was cracked open. But Simon had only _paused_ because he _thought_ he had heard…  
“—telling you, sir. I have a note from my doctor.”  
“So you can’t play at _all_ , tonight?”  
The voices of Baz and his coach echoed into the hallway. Simon’s chest immediately tightened; he felt terrible for eavesdropping. He tried his best to quiet his footsteps until he had reached the end of the hallway. It was there that the coach’s words finally settled in. _Baz_ _can’t_ _play_ , Simon thought. _Baz_ _can’t_ _play_ … _which_ _means_ I _have_ _to_ _play_.  
Simon couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face. He was finally, _finally_ , getting a chance to prove himself.

Penny shifted on the cold metal bleacher bench and watched as the seats around her slowly filled. The soccer pitch was flanked with permanent sets of bleachers and was much nicer than any school field she had visited for Watford’s games. A brick building at one end of the field housed the locker room, which she knew Simon was now in, probably receiving some sort of pre-game pep talk. She just assumed that’s what sports teams did, since she had never bothered to be on one. Books were just so much more appealing.  
It was because of that that Penny considered herself a wildly supportive friend for coming to the Charioteers’ game. After all, she wasn’t really expecting Simon to actually _play_. He had told her himself how competitive it was and had ruminated on Baz Grimm-Pitch and his various attributes. So yeah… Penny was already settling in for a long, _long_ game.  
Well, settling in as best she could, considering how truly uncomfortable the seating arrangements were.  
“Is this seat taken?”  
Penny turned to greet the dark-haired stranger who had just spoken. Her mouth fell open, and she hurried to fix her expression into something more neutral.   
“Nope,” she said, and turned back to the field. Her eyes were still slightly wide.  
Baz Grimm-Pitch sat down next to her on the bench and pulled out his phone, apparently not aware that he was due to be on the field sometime in the next five minutes.  
Penny cleared her throat, feeling somewhat awkward. From Simon’s many ramblings, she knew he and Baz had developed some sort of rivalry and that they talked regularly, but she didn’t know if she had ever been brought up.  
“You’ve probably never heard of me,” Penny began, “I’m Penelope Bunce.”  
“I… can’t say I have,” Baz said delicately, glancing up from his phone.  
“So Simon hasn’t mentioned me?”  
At that, Baz looked up fully. “Excuse me?”  
“Because I’ve heard endlessly about you,” Penny said, crossing her arms.  
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Baz asked. He was tapping his phone against his leg, drumming out a jittery beat.  
“I’m Penny, Simon’s best friend,” Penny said, “And based on what Simon has told me about you, aren’t you supposed to be down there?” She pointed at the line of players filing from the locker room onto the field. The opposing team was already jogging in place on their side of the pitch. The game was about to begin. “From what I hear, you’re some sort of star player.”  
“Ah,” Baz said, grimacing. “I’ve somehow managed to pull a ligament in my knee.” He paused, giving Penny an opportunity to raise her eyebrows skeptically, which she took. “So I won’t be able to play for a few weeks.”  
“I see,” Penny said, leaning forward to prop her chin on her palms. She spotted Simon bouncing in place in his starting position near the center of the pitch. Everything about him, from his expression to his disheveled curls, broadcasted his nervous energy.   
“This is a good opportunity for Simon,” she explained. “I don’t know if you know, but he’s an orphan. A football scholarship is his most tangible plan for affording college.”  
“He—“ Baz stopped and cleared his throat. “He didn’t tell me about the orphan part.”  
Penny nodded and returned her attention to the field. The official blew his whistle and the game began. Simon was immediately on the move, though Penny had no idea if he was going in the right direction.  
“I might enjoy this a bit more if I knew anything about football,” Penny muttered. Baz threw her a sharp look.  
“Why are you here then?” he asked.  
“To support Simon,” Penny said matter-of-factly.  
Baz made a small noise to let her know he’d heard, but his attention remained fixed on the pitch below them.   
Penny’s gaze unglued from Simon about five minutes later, and she found herself watching Baz. If she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes seemed to be tracing Simon’s movements around the field. Every now and then he would sigh forcefully through his nose, like he was trying to hold himself back from commenting.  
The center official blew his whistle as one of the opposing players fell to the ground and began to howl dramatically. Penny rolled her eyes. Boys could be so delicate sometimes.  
“So are you and Simon friends?” Penny asked as the crowd waited for the drama queen to be removed from the pitch.  
“Sort of.” Baz grimaced. “He seems pretty set on becoming rivals.”  
“He speaks highly of you,” Penny insisted, “And he talks about you _all_ the time.”  
Baz blinked and his brow furrowed as he said, “Really?”  
“Mhm.” Penny smiled a little. “It’s always _Baz_ _is_ _so_ _great_ _at_ _this_ and _Baz_ _is_ _so_ _amazing_ _at_ _that_. He really admires you.”  
Baz just shook his head, seemingly at a loss for words. The game resumed below them and he went back to tracking its progress. He was _definitely_ watching Simon now.  
“Yeah, he’s more infatuated with you than he was with his girlfriend,” Penny said, perhaps a bit louder than she needed to.  
“W-What?” Baz spluttered. He turned towards her so quickly he nearly fell off the bench. “Simon has a—” He cut himself off, cleared his throat, and spoke again, more slowly, “I didn’t know Simon was seeing someone.”  
“ _Was_ , indeed,” Penny said, trying to suppress her grin. “They broke up a month ago. He said it was over something about heading in new directions? Anyway, her name was Agatha, and he talked about her only half as much as he talks about you.” She chuckled. “You two should honestly just get married already.”  
Baz’s mouth fell open as he stared at her, the game forgotten. “They broke up?”  
“Mhm.” Penny turned back to the game, feigning interest in it as she watched Baz out of the corner of her eye. His expressions were changing so rapidly she could barely keep up. After a minute of dizzying emotion he finally seemed to regain control over his features..  
After a pause he said, “There’s a party tonight, at my house. The whole team and anyone they invite will be there. You should come.” Baz pressed his mouth shut and glanced back down at the pitch, where Simon was in possession of the ball. “With Simon, of course.”  
“Sure,” Penny said. She grinned. “Sounds fun.”

Baz was used to his house full of people. His father and step-mother hosted various upper-class dinner parties and charity benefits regularly. However, those were quiet, polite affairs. The Charioteers’ post-game celebration was anything but quiet and polite.   
Most of the actual players were still wet-headed from their showers and had scattered into the maze of first-floor rooms. Baz’s sister had smartly taped off the upstairs in order to try and preserve the historical bedrooms that were photographed every other year.  
As Baz waded through the crowd he saw that someone had found the drinks he had stocked in the fridge. A Bluetooth speaker pumped dance music into the formal sitting room, where the furniture had been pushed against the walls. He had to squeeze through a clump of girls wearing gear supporting the losing team in order to get to the hallway, which was lined with people waiting to use the bathroom.  
Baz passed all of them, aiming for the library. He slid through the doors and set them shut quietly behind him, letting out a sigh of relief as the noise from the party faded. His house’s library was one of his favorite spots. It had shelves that ran all the way to the ceiling twenty feet above his head. Classic furniture was scattered across the space and created a plethora of comfortable reading nooks. Best of all, libraries were usually avoided by partying teenagers.  
“Baz! Great party.” Penny stepped out from behind one of the bookshelves, trailed by Simon, who smiled and waved a bit when he sighted him.  
Baz pasted his host expression back on his face. “Hey, guys. You know the party’s out there, right?” He gestured over his shoulder.  
“It’s fine in here,” Simon said. His hands fidgeted as his eyes drifted around the room. He seemed unwilling to look Baz in the eye.  
“Agatha’s out there,” Penny said bluntly. “News of a party at the famous Grimm-Pitch house spread fast. You have a really awesome library by the way.” She ran a reverential hand down the spine of the nearest book.  
“Thanks,” Baz said. Simon had flushed red as soon as Agatha’s name was spoken.  
A knock on the door startled them all out of their awkward silence.  
“Er— come in?” Baz called. Penny giggled.  
The dark oak door creaked open, revealing Niall and a girl Baz felt he should know the name of.  
“Oh!” The girl began to laugh. “Sorry! We thought this was another dining room or something.”  
Baz felt his eyebrows creep upwards. “That’s two doors to your left.”  
“This’ll work just fine,” she said. To Baz’s horror, she sashayed into the room and plopped down on one of the couches near the center, dragging Niall with her. A small crowd of partygoers followed them and soon the room was filled with giggles and chatter.  
Baz found himself being pushed along with the crowd until he was standing deep in the room next to Simon and Penny.  
“Come on, Baz!” Niall called, “We’re playing truth or dare!”  
“I’m not playing a children’s game,” Baz insisted, crossing his arms and taking a step back. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), the movement meant his back pressed against Simon. He immediately jumped forward, which the settled group took as his agreement. A few people cheered and a pair of arms pulled him down onto the nearest couch, a maroon loveseat with gold detailing. A second later Simon was also pushed down next to him, so close he was nearly sitting in Baz’s lap. Penny followed him and perched on the arm of their chair.  
Simon’s attention had been snagged by one of the girls who had entered the room and was now seated across the circle. She was willowy and had delicate facial features. With her light hair and skin, she seemed as fragile as a porcelain teapot.   
_Agatha_ , Baz reasoned grimly.  
“Alright everyone!” The giggly brunette who’d entered on Niall’s arm waved her hands to get everyone’s attention. “You all know the rules of Truth or Dare—“  
“So get on with it, Miah!” a voice called from the assembled crowd.  
“Fine, Derek,” Miah said, tossing her hair over a shoulder. She grinned at the blonde-haired boy who had interrupted her. “Truth or dare?”  
Derek’s white teeth flashed as he answered her. “Dare.”  
“I dare you to go get me another drink.” Miah held up her half-empty beer bottle. “Mine’s almost gone.”  
Derek rolled his eyes and stood up. Chatter resumed until he returned and dared Felicity, who gave a truth to Jordan, who gave a truth to Niall, who turned to Baz.  
“How about our host?” Niall began, “Truth or dare, Baz?”  
Baz scowled at his friend, who only shrugged. “Fine. Dare.”  
“Ooh, wait Niall! I have a good one,” Miah trilled, her nails digging into his jersey where she gripped his shoulder. She whispered something into his ear and Niall shrugged.  
“Alright. Me and Miah dare you to get locked in _that_ closet.” Niall pointed at one of the many storage closet doors scattered throughout the house.   
“Alright,” Baz said. He stood up, figuring that he’d at least have a break from the game for awhile.   
“Hold on, hold on,” Niall said, waving his drink through the air. Baz really hoped he wouldn’t end up spilling it on the carpet. “You have to go in there… with Simon.”  
Baz’s spine locked up. Simon had also stiffened on the couch next to him, but he wasn’t looking at Baz. Instead, his stare was fixed upon Agatha, who in turn was staring determinedly at her feet. The crowd had also reacted; the room filling with cheers, laughter, and wolf-whistles.  
“Now get going, you two,” Miah said, taking a swig of her new beer. “Unless you want to take a chicken, of course.”  
Simon stood up next to Baz, his movements stiff.  
“I can take the chicken,” Baz muttered to him, but Simon only shook his head and took his hand, leading him to the closet. “Seriously, Snow.”  
But Simon only ignored him, flipping the light switch to the closet as they passed across the threshold. Baz’s heart began to pound as the door shut behind him. He had barely turned toward Simon when he heard the lock click on the door and the lights turned off again.   
Someone cackled on the other side of the door, and Baz heard Miah’s voice, encouraging the group to proceed with the game without them. Soon Niall was asking someone else truth or dare. The only thing keeping him from pounding on the door and demanding to be let out was that Penny was still sitting out there, on the arm of the loveseat. But who knew what her agenda was. She had seemed so weirdly determined to talk about Simon’s love life with him back at the soccer game.  
If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought she was dropping hints. But he _did_ know better, and now he was only teasing himself. He couldn’t let himself think about any possibility with him and Simon— especially when they were locked in a dark closet together.  
Baz’s eyes finally adjusted enough that he was able to make out Simon’s grim expression. With his lips pressed together and his eyes squeezed shut, Simon looked like he was trying to block out everything and everyone, including Baz.  
“Here,” Baz said, turning towards the giant plastic containers stacked against the wall. He took two of them from the top of the pile and slid one towards Simon, who had opened his eyes to watch.  
The only light came in slivers from between the door and its frame, but it was enough that Baz didn’t trip, fall, or do anything equally clumsy and embarrassing as he sat down on his box, knees pointed in Simon’s direction.  
“Are you alright?” Baz asked, his manners kicking in.  
“This is fine,” Simon said, nodding to himself.  
“That’s… not what I asked,” Baz said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.  
“Agatha’s out there,” Simon continued. Then, as if the words had unlocked something in him, he continued speaking, his expression turning intense. “I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want to make her jealous. I don’t know why I’m enjoying this either, because I don’t _enjoy_ making her jealous.” His eyebrows pulled closer together and the corners of his mouth turned downwards. “But why else would I enjoy this? I don’t want to be a terrible ex-boyfriend. Does enjoying being here make me terrible?”  
He finally turned to Baz, who saw how his expression was earnest and slightly tormented.  
“Are you saying,” Baz said slowly, “That you enjoy being in here, with me, and you think it’s making her jealous? But you don’t want to make her jealous?” Baz realized he was also frowning, and tried to relax his expression.  
“I’m trying to,” Simon said. He laughed once, humorlessly. “I’m trying to say I enjoy being with you. And asking if you think that makes me a terrible ex.” Baz watched him sneak a glance at him before returning his gaze to his knees.  
“Why would she be jealous of you… spending time with me?” Baz asked. He tried to keep his tone as neutral, as uninterested as possible.  
“I’m bi,” Simon said plainly. This time he looked at Baz for real, obviously trying to gauge his reaction.  
“Well,” Baz said, his gut twisting ( _Why_ _is_ _being_ _honest_ _so_ hard? he thought.), “I’m gay.”  
Simon nodded slowly, and his frown disappeared. “Then maybe she should definitely be jealous.”  
“What—“  
And Simon kissed him.

Simon realized two seconds into the kiss that maybe he should have thought this through a bit more. But… _I’m_ _bad_ _at_ _thinking_ _anyway_.

Baz realized his eyes were still open, staring at Simon’s closed eyelids, his coppery eyebrows, the mole near his left bottom lash line, and he closed them. He hadn’t ever hoped— hadn’t ever allowed himself to hope…   
When Simon finally pulled back to breathe, Baz smiled at him. He wasn’t sure if Simon could make out his exact expression in the dark, but he figured he had found another, better, way to communicate what he was feeling.  
He reached forward, searching for Simon’s hand, his arm, his shirt and used his new leverage to pull Simon close again.

Simon couldn’t tell if it had been a minute or an hour, but he was too busy kissing Baz to hear the warning click of the closet lock. The door swung open without ceremony, and Penny stood, smirking, on the threshold. Simon sprung back onto the box that he had originally been seated on and tried to quickly straighten his shirt. He already knew his hair was a lost cause.  
“Penny—” Simon started, but she held up a hand. Simon had to squint as his eyes adjusted to the light and he realized her eyes were twinkling with suppressed mirth.  
“Don’t start, Simon,” she said, “Do you want me to close this door again?”  
“No,” Simon said.  
“Yes,” Baz said, simultaneously. Simon shot him a sideways look that he hoped conveyed exactly what he wanted to say, but wouldn’t, in front of Penny.  
“The game ended a while ago,” Penny said, offering Simon a hand up, which he took gratefully. Once he was standing, he did the same for Baz.  
“What time is it?” Baz asked, the question posed to nobody in particular. He ran a hand though his hair, which was extremely ruffled already. _Whoops_ , Simon thought, not at all sorry. Slightly disheveled Baz was becoming one of his favorite versions.  
“Past midnight,” Penny announced, turning her phone so he could read the screen.  
“ _Shit_ ,” Baz said, striding towards the library doors. “I told my parents everyone would be gone by one.”  
Penny grimaced and Simon watched as Baz ran out the door.  
“I told you so,” Penny said immediately. “I told you so, I told you so, _I_ _told_ _you_ _so_!”  
“Penny,” Simon groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “We need to get going too.”  
“Yes, but—“  
“Oh, and Simon,” Baz called, appearing again at the library doors. He hurried back towards Simon and Penny and grabbed Simon’s phone from his back pocket. “Here’s my number.” He tapped something into the device and held it out for him to take.  
“Okay,” Simon said. He sounded dumbfounded, even to himself. Baz was turning to go when Simon latched onto his arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”  
“Yeah,” Baz grinned. Then he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Simon’s cheek, nodded to Penny, and disappeared again.  
“So,” Penny said, “Different directions huh?”  
“I took Agatha’s advice,” Simon said, his fingers brushing across his cheek. “I’m taking control of what I want _and_ what I need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you’d like to see more of my work check my Tumblr: @owl-girl04


End file.
